


Notti Magiche

by JuliaBaggins



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Festival di Sanremo RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Football, El Clásico, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, yeah let's pretend in this universe ermal is actually good at football
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-07-07 02:04:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15898701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaBaggins/pseuds/JuliaBaggins
Summary: Ermal is a young football player who recently joined FC Barcelona; Fabrizio is the captain of Real Madrid, their biggest enemy. And they meet in El Clasico, the most important duel in Spanish football...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WillEvince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillEvince/gifts).



> For my fave partner in being mistaken for shady criminals ;)

Ermal Meta was staring out of the red and blue bus’s window, not actually _seeing_ any of the streets passing outside. He had never been to Madrid before, so it might have been a nice opportunity to get a glimpse of the city, but no - today was not the day for sightseeing, and he would have been way too nervous for that anyways. The journey the bus took from their hotel to the Estadio Bernabeu wasn't long, and if he was honest, Ermal wouldn't have minded a few more minutes in the bus, a little more time before it all started. And at the same time, he couldn't wait, his anxiety being overshadowed by his excitement. 

Ever since he had started kicking around a football, all those years ago back in Albania, Ermal had dreamed of playing for a famous club, being in the big matches. His transfer to FC Barcelona at the start of the season had fulfilled the first wish, and the second soon would come true, with them playing the legendary duel against their biggest enemy, Real Madrid. The closer they got to the stadium, the more people in their white shirts Ermal saw, but also little groups of fans in blue and red, and those made him smile. They started waving their hands as well as their flags enthusiastically once they spotted the team's bus, and Ermal waved back with a smile, though he wasn't sure if they could actually see him through the dark windows. 

And then something else caught his attention. A big poster right next to the street leading to the stadium, showing Real's current stars. Their captain in the middle, looking sternly into the camera. And oh, that would be interesting, to compete against _him_. When Ermal had played for his first youth team, he did have a poster of Fabrizio Moro above his bed, and he still remembered the anger of the Italian newspapers when they announced one of their country's biggest football talents leaving towards Spain. And now, Fabrizio was the captain of one of the very best clubs in the world, it had been his tattooed hands that were the first to lift the Champions League trophy last year, and Ermal would be playing against him today. 

Even though they were both Italian, they had never actually met each other before - Ermal had never been nominated for the national team, never played for a big club before his recent transfer to Barcelona, and oh, hadn't this been a surprise for many football fans. _Barca_ out of all clubs, those who preferred players from their own youth devision to join their pro team, replacing the hole in their midfield with a pretty unknown player from a second league Italian club who also wasn't in his early twenties anymore - those who called it a joke had been the nicer ones. But Ermal had tried to not let that get to him, and after the first few matches he played in La Liga, the complaints had gotten fewer and fewer. They hadn't lost a single match so far in this season, and Ermal would give it his all to keep it that way. No matter whom they were facing on the pitch, and no matter how big a fan of certain people he once might have been. Ermal watched the Bernabeu stadium get closer and closer, and an excited smile spread on his lips.

 

The speech that Ermal’s coach held shortly before Barcelona’s team had to leave the guest’s cabin did a good job at transferring the players’ excitement, their nerves into an absolute determination to win this match, and all of them were sure that they could actually do this. Ermal got a pat to the back from his captain, a smile from their goalkeeper, and then he joined his teammates, people who hopefully were becoming his friends already, on their way towards the pitch. Towards playing his very first El Clasico.

Once they stood next to Real’s team, Ermal couldn’t help but look out for a certain defense player he might have thought about quite a lot during the days leading up to the match. And there he was, Ermal could make out a mess of dark hair at the front of the line of Madrid players, and shortly after, he heard his name being shouted by 80.000 people.

“Aaaand with the number 8, our captain, it’s Fabriziooo-“, the stadium speaker started.

And an ocean of people dressed in white answered with a deafening “Moro!”

Right before the match started, the two teams’ players went to shake each other’s hands, and when the two Italians faced each other, Ermal noticed the smirk on Fabrizio’s face. Oh, he surely hoped that the older man would lose this tonight…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I haven't forgotten about this story! Have some football action :)

Shortly after, the match began, and Ermal focused. It was as if the impressive stadium, the thousands of people screaming, the flashlights, the cameras, everything faded away. He didn’t saw himself in such a prestige dripping scenario anymore, managed to forget what all of this meant, just breathed. In, out, in, and out. This was just like every other match. He was Ermal, the same Ermal he always had been, and just like when he had been nothing but a child who could escape some of the darkness waiting at home while chasing a ball around at the dirt pitch behind school, he wanted to play. Nothing more, nothing less. It didn’t matter how many people were watching him in this moment, how many trophies the players around him had held in their hands during their careers, how many millions they called their own. In this moment, they also could have been the kids from his old neighborhood, and like always, Ermal wanted to win against them. So he smiled, and started chasing after the first pass.

The match started out good for Barca, they had the better chances, and in a few of them, Ermal played a rather prominent part; his eye always able to find Vigentini, his teammate newly returned from an injury, who was a serious danger to Real’s goal. But even though they tried their best and had some rather nice opportunities, there always seemed to be that very last ounce of luck missing. Or maybe it wasn’t bad luck, but rather something else getting into their way. Someone.

Shortly before the halftime break, Ermal found himself right in front of the goal, and the goalkeeper was standing in the wrong corner, and this could be his opportunity, this would be – but just when Ermal aimed for where exactly to place the ball into the goal, a certain Fabrizio Moro appeared right in front of him, and snatched the ball away, safely passing it to his own goalkeeper before cheekily grinning at Ermal. And oh, if that wasn’t an invitation. Not even three minutes later, they found themselves in a pretty similar situation, only that this time, Fabrizio didn’t manage to surprise Ermal, and the young Barca player was very unwilling to lose another duel, especially so close to the goal. In the end, Fabrizio once again managed to snatch the ball away from him, but it wasn’t as clean a safe as earlier, and Ermal fell over the other man’s foot. He managed to catch himself on his hands and quickly was back to his feet, glaring daggers at the older man who snarled something that suspiciously sounded as if he’d accuse Ermal of begging for a freekick. And Ermal would have had a lot of things to say to that, hadn’t it been right in that moment that Vigentini’s arms wrapped around him from behind, holding him back. His teammate mumbled a few words about how it wasn’t worth it while the referee told Fabrizio in clear words that another stunt like this would be followed by a yellow card, and shortly after, he blew the whistle to indicate the end of the first half of the match.

Back in the guest’s cabin, Ermal found himself next to their German goalkeeper, who congratulated him on a well-played first half, and shortly after, Vigentini handed him a water bottle from the box in the corner. Ermal smiled at him – their striker seemed to be really nice, and as he’d only joined training again after an injury a few days prior, Ermal didn’t have much of a chance to get to know him yet. But he’d have time for that, of that he was sure. Right after they’d have managed to win this match. Once again, their coach said a few words, and the overall mood in Barca’s team when they went back towards the pitch was rather good. This would be a win, of that they were sure.

And the beginning of the second half only made them more sincere in this feeling, crowned by the beautiful goal that Vigentini managed to score in the 58th minute. Ermal saw the ball flying into the net as if it was in slow motion, saw Real’s goalkeeper being a split second too late, those few centimeters missing, and then he suddenly found himself in a group hug with Vigentini and two of his other teammates; their little pile of bubbling happiness while thousands of people dressed in white screamed their frustration into the dark nightsky above Madrid. 

Once they loosened their hug, Ermal looked up, and saw the huge video wall across the pitch. White letters on a dark background, announcing the reason for why his heart still was beating extra fast in happiness added to all the adrenaline, the excitement that the match had already caused to rush through him before. _Real Madrid 0:1 FC Barcelona_. Now that looked very nice. The task now only was to keep it like that. Or to make things even better. And an opportunity for that presented itself not too long after: Vigentini got a long pass from the midfield, and shortly before getting into the penalty are, one of Real’s players caused him to stop by slamming into his shoulder rather hard from the side, causing him to fall. Ermal hadn’t been far away, and he quickly made it to his teammates side, asking if he was alright.

“Yeah, it’s nothing, just- help me up?”

Ermal nodded and helped his teammate, trying to ignore how the man gritted his teeth, glanced towards his left knee. The knee he just had fallen on after the foul. Which also happened to be the knee that had been responsible for his months long injury leave. They shared a quick glance, and Ermal would have liked to say more, to assure him that things would be fine, but in that moment, they noticed that trouble had started nearby.

The referee had decided on a freekick for Barca, as well as a yellow card for the player who had caused Vigentini to fall, and seemingly, the other Real players weren’t too happy with this, especially not with how good the freekick position was. And a certain Italian was the loudest to complain, in broken Spanish but still getting his point across quite well. Ermal watched Fabrizio’s face turning angrier and angrier, a very cold look in his eyes, and it didn’t take too long until he got a yellow card too. The Italian word that Ermal thought he heard him mumble after that might have turned the card red, but luckily for the Real player, the referee seemingly hadn’t heard this, and he indicated that they should continue their game.

While their captain got into position to score the freekick, Ermal walked to find a place in the wall, wondering if maybe he’d have a change to score with his head here, if the ball would fly over nicely; he was quite tall after all, especially compared to most of the Spanish players. The referee blew his whistle, Ermal jumped up – and suddenly, he felt a heavy impact towards his face, causing him to lose balance and fall back. A moment later, he found himself laying on his back in the grass, vision a little blurry and with pain shooting through his face. Confused, Ermal raised a hand, touched it towards his nose, and flinched. There seemed to be something wrong, really wrong, and when he saw how his fingers came away sprinkled with dark red blood, he started to worry. And then a lot of things happened at the same time – the referee blew his whistle, there were more curses in Italian, complaints in hundreds of voices from the spectators, Vigentini helped Ermal to his feet, and shortly after, he got escorted towards the side lines. 

Fabrizio Moro was a fleeting shadow in white, storming past everyone after he had gotten his red card, and Ermal wasn’t able to make out the man’s face while he sat down at the bench, their team’s doctor taking care of his nose. According to him, it at least wasn’t broken, but the bleeding was quite heavy, and as it wasn’t allowed to play in a bloodied shirt, Ermal got handed a new one after a few moments of resting. Only that his nose decided to start bleeding again right then, and Ermal exchanged a few quick words with his coach, agreeing to be subbed out of the match. It was a pity that he wouldn’t be able to finish it, but there weren’t too many minutes left anyways, and another defense player would do them well in holding onto the thin advantage of one goal, would help them in securing this win that was oh so important.

The doctor took care of his nose a little longer, and once he was quite sure that it wouldn’t start bleeding again, he smiled at Ermal. The young player got a pat to the shoulder from his coach and told the defender being subbed in a few encouraging words, and then he started his way towards the catacombs. If he hurried to the cabin, he’d be able to wash the blood away from his face and still be back in time to witness the end of the match, to hopefully witness a win of Barca in this Clasico. His thoughts already fixed on what hopefully would be a victory party in the evening, Ermal walked down the stairs, and then, he stopped. Because he wasn’t alone, not like he expected to be here while outside, the game was going into its hardly fought over ending phase.

Against the wall next to the stairs, Real’s captain was leaning; white shirt decorated by grass chains, hair a mess and dark eyes finding Ermal. They looked at each other. And Ermal took another step, towards Fabrizio…

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you left a nice comment it would make me incredibly happy! ❤
> 
> Title inspired by "Un’estate italiana"


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